salivating, runs around from tent to tent, checking out all the sponsors and perhaps a few girls.
After some time scoping things out, Ford jogs toward me looking like he belongs on some sort of commercial rather than just running toward a wanna-be surfer girl. He plops down on the sand next to me and waves a blue flyer in front of my face.
“Check it, mamacita.” He places it between two of my toes like they’re placeholders.
I grab the blue paper. “There’s a new surf shop opening on the strip.”
“Keep reading.”
I scan down the page. “Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy—”
“Crap.” Ford laughs. “That’s right. In August, you’re entering Crazy John’s Surf Comp. His first annual. This is it—the break you’ve been looking for. Kickin’ butt and taking names.”
Speechless. Overload.
Ford says, “That’s not all. I met the owner of the shop. Guess who one of the judges is?”
I squeak out, “Who?”
“The UC San Diego surf coach himself.”
My chance. To go for it. To catch the coach’s eye. To focus on all the moves I need to perfect.
Ford pats my leg. “Earth to Grace.”
“I’m freaking out.”
Ford laugh-cackles. “Heck yeah.”
I shake my head side to side. “Not cool. I need some sort of way to get that guy’s attention. Like pulling better moves. Not to mention my main ride to the beach is now interning at a law firm for the next seven weeks. I don’t even know if I’ll have the beach time to train and prove I can kick ass.”
“Grace, you will. And you already kick butt. You just don’t know it yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ford says, “It means you hold back. You don’t fully give yourself to the move.”
I toss the flyer between us. “Are you charging for this psycho-babble?”
“Nah. Call it a freebie, ’cause that’s how I roll.” He waggles his brows up and down. “Now for a little CYA. If you tell your folks about this comp thing … let’s keep me out of the equation. Personally, I think it will be a great way to keep you focused on some fun this summer when you aren’t doing all the college app stuff. Then, when school starts, you’ll have kicked major butt at the surf comp and you’ll be two hundred percent ready to kick butt all the way to your valedictorian speech next May.”
Grinning at his need to cover his ass now that he works for my dad, I shrug and say, “When do I sign up?”
“Today. This is your chance. C’mon. Where’s the thanks? The you’re my hero ?”
I lighten my voice and wrap my fingers around the sides of my feet. “Thanks, Ford. Really. You rock. So we’re really going to sign up today?”
He eyes me and grins. “That’s a start. We’re not signing up, just you. You’re the one that wants to make the UCSD surf team. Me? I’ve got an internship con su padre. Hardcore competing isn’t my thing. It’s yours. When it comes to surfing, obeto surfI want it to be all about me and the ride. Nobody else.”
I bite my lip. It must be nice for him, not feeling the need to compete. Just to be. Something deep down inside me says I have to fight harder than everyone else, because … well, because my world is so screwed up. And while part of me thinks their world is screwed up, too, another part of me says, not as much as mine.
My attention shifts. A flurry of activity in the competitors’ tent gives me the impression the first heat will start soon. The first four competitors in the Surfer Girl Jr. Pro, wearing jerseys with their numbers on them, are checking into the ready area, where some super-tan guy with a visor gives them instructions. My stomach’s doing sympathetic flip-flops. That’s going to be me in two and half months? Gulp.
They’re fidgeting back and forth, and the shortest girl keeps glancing at the ocean. Visor Guy’s mouth moves a few more times and then he nods for them to paddle out. They catch a current and by the time they’re at the designated area, the horn blares, signaling the start of their twenty-minute heat.
I curl my toes and tighten my fists as I consider the realities of competing. Judges score each contestant’s top two waves based on the number of maneuvers and their respective difficulty, the surfer’s control, and how the surfer maximizes the critical part of the wave. Only one contestant from each heat advances to the next round. No